All the Makings
by Naoko Asakura
Summary: All the makings of a relationship between two unlikely companions... MxF. CHAPTER SIX. I'd appreciate some thoughtful reviews, if you have any to give.
1. The Makings

All the Makings

By Naoko Asakura

Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai Champloo! Don't sue me. D:

Author's Note: So I've been on this website for a really long time now… The last couple good fics I've written have been Samurai Champloo, and now that I've gotten back into the series, I feel like I'm due for a new story. I've been wanting to write for a while anyway, so it's all good!

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_Preface: The Makings_

_A beginning._

_A girl._

_A man._

_A fool._

_A monster._

_A tamed animal._

_A woman._

_…Ah, the stuff these things are made of. What we're here today to find out is just that. Pieces of a puzzle that create one big picture—puzzle pieces within puzzle pieces. The results of smaller makings proceed on to make even more sprawling images. Things do not exist without their means._

_Two people can make a beginning,_

_Women are made from girls,_

_Love breeds fools,_

_Monsters become tame._

_…Men and women—_

_Hm…_

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	2. Beginning

All the Makings

By Naoko Asakura

Disclaimer: I don't own Samurai Champloo!

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_Chapter One: The Makings of a Beginning_

Nothing is without it's own beginning. Things don't just appear out of nowhere… That's impossible, no matter how abrupt things happen or fall into place. Beginnings are vital to any journey, and when I say the word 'journey', I mean just about anything. Literal or figurative, journeys happen. Mine happened… Ours happened.

I remember the surge of relief that flooded my entire being when he pushed through the curtain of my dingy old teahouse… Well, it wasn't mine per say, but I had been working there long enough to call it some kind of home. The customers were terrible, rude bastards that day—never cutting me any kind of break, except for the final straw when they almost 'cut me a break' on my hand. Even in the moments of terror, I could still remember his gravel-textured voice as it whispered to me.

Of course, this wasn't a romantic thought running through my head. Not yet. The matter of a bribe was on his mind—dumplings, he wanted. Lots, too. It had seemed like a ridiculous demand, the number he stated, but I changed my mind when I saw the reflection of my own horror-stricken eyes in a wannabe samurai thug's blade. Closer… Until I screamed: _"ONE HUNDRED DUMPLINGS!"_

For us, this was how it began: A bandit's price and a damsel's plea. Looking back on it now, I wonder if my employers would pay him up… But then I think of the feral spark in his eyes when he cuts down his enemies. They would have seen it, and would have feared like most other people do. One hundred dumplings and probably some fine sake to top it all off. They would have thanked _him_ for gracing their presence.

That's just the kind of man he is, and even when I grow tired of him and his unsavory habits, I still won't have him any other way.

His stubbornness: it's something I owe my life to on more than just one occasion. Of course, not just my life, but surprisingly enough, my virginity as well. Would you believe it? Him, of all people protecting a girl's virtue? Most people assume, when they see us together, that he keeps me as some kind of prisoner. In a way, he does. It's not really his fault though, since I was the one who fell in love. I imprison myself, and no matter how many times people tell me how unhealthy it is to keep feelings hidden… I mean, I simply can't tell him! What kind of traveling companions would we be then?

How would he react?

This all brings me back to Ikutsuki Island. I was in the most desperate moment of my life, and just when I thought I would never meet my father… There he was, pushing both doors of the church open. In spite of his ragged, sopping appearance, he looked the hero I could possibly have ever wished for. My relief was short-lived though, when he offered up his sword in exchange for my freedom. It was like my heart would explode in my chest right then and there, and part of me wished for it. Anything to spare him from what would probably be the toughest fight of his life. Instead though, he coaxed me to let him alone with my captor, and so it was.

He almost died.

In spite of all my feelings, I force myself to remain as I've always been: the obnoxious brat-traveling companion, unaware of the scenery. I have a habit of getting myself into sticky situations, and he's the one who usually has to pull me out of them.

Does he make it a point to save me all the time? Might he like me too?

Oh, I hope so.

Either way, we had a beginning. I just hope we never have an ending, no matter how far apart we are.

Mugen…

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	3. Girl

All The Makings

By Naoko Asakura

Disclaimer: I don't own Samurai Champloo!

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_Chapter Two: The Makings of a Girl_

Girls are like… a waste of time, or something. Women! Now that's where it's at! Real women—not too young and not too old; Big in all the right places! Am I right or am I right here? Girls are made up of flower petals and butterflies and hopes and dreams and basically all the things I dislike about this world. They aren't realistic! Women (my kind, anyway) are made from fire: hot, fervent and deadly all at once.

Now tell me which sounds more appealing… That's what I thought.

Admittedly, most of the women I've had are like battered steel. They're old swords with all kinds of defects. I'll never admit that to either of my traveling companions, and I'd never tell them about the semi-rare occasion when a brothel bitch would just snap on me. By snap, I mean she'd get all weepy and sad, telling me that I look like her dead husband or some lover they'd been abandoned by. Plus, there've been too many times, where I've found myself trapped between a tatami mat and a knife's point. They'll try and escape their lusty prison sometimes… Too bad they seem to pick the wrong guy to jump every time.

I always order the madam of whatever cathouse I'm in to get me a new girl. There's no way I'm going to rape anyone, whether they're conscious or not—that shit doesn't turn me on, as some people might think.

Either way, I always get what I want. Looking the way I do, it's comes pretty easy.

So anyway, about girls… I don't fiddle around with 'em. It's too much trouble, and I found that out long ago. The whole "love and leave" concept is definitely not as easy as it sounds—if they really like you, they find you. If they hate you for what you've done, they find you. If you've even got any scrap of a conscience, it'll find you. Contrary to popular belief, I still got a bit of that shit left in me.

It's all her fault, you know?

She's all the things that make up a girl and even more than what's expected: trouble. Oh fuck, so much trouble. Sometimes I can't even stand it, but I know it's a promise I made to her, and that stupid little bit of conscience puts that on me. I have to save her. It's me who has to protect her. Who even cares about that fish-faced tightwad? She asked me to do the job first, and fuck, I'm gonna be the one to stick my neck out for the annoying little twit.

The annoying little girl…

GIRLS. Damn it! She's just a kid! What was she when we just started out, like fifteen? Well it's been a while since the end of that bullshit island "adventure". She has to be something like seventeen or eighteen now. Fuck if I know. She'll always be a girl to me. A girly-girly-girly-girl. One that can't keep her trap shut. One who sometimes can't pick up on other people's emotions.

It's not as if I've got many of those, just my base instincts. The only ones really worth keeping hold of, in my opinion. She brings all the worst out in me. If she even had one shred of social tact, she'd see that I do more for her than anybody she's ever met. She's just an ungrateful brat. She'd bend over backwards for _that_ guy—all I am is her pet. Her dog! It's fuckin' stupid how she's always making **me** out to be the bad guy, and she's always thinking about making out with **him**. Gross... I don't even want to think about that.

The last thing I'll ever be is a third wheel! Leaving would be a better option than sleeping with my back facing a pair of retards in love. I don't even want to imagine what their kids would look like. I just can't visualize it! Now if I gave her kids, she'd be kneeling and kissing my toes in thanks for the gift I'd have given her. Sometimes, I just sit staring into the campfire, envisioning what it would look like. It always changes-- especially depending on my mood... You know, if I'm in the mood for having a girl, or if I'm in the mood for having a boy. Sometimes, I think about it enough to want one of each. Maybe sometimes they'd bicker over something and they'd come to me for help, and that's usually where the whole imagining thing comes to an end. From somebody else's perspective (hers, mostly), it probably looks like I'm laughing to myself about some lewd joke I'd put together, or just thinking about some prostitute I bedded in the last town we stayed in.

I can't help it if I need to cut loose sometimes.

Why do I even bother thinking about a future with her, when all she is to me is a stupid girl? No woman in her at all, let me tell you. She's _almost_ severely lacking in the figure department, and she's full of dreams and hopes and flower petals and butterflies... Everything I don't like. I can't be attracted to her, if I can't win her over or seduce her the way I do with women. I don't want to be attracted to somebody so flawed! All it brings about is annoyance and regret, and these are two things I've got too much of already even as a mere traveling companion.

There's absolutely no point.

There is absolutely no point in fantasizing about a future with her, because there is none.

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	4. Man

In spite of all the things said prior to this moment, he is here- far from the campsite, far from any swordsmen (bespectacled or otherwise). Far from any women. Oh, how embarrassing this is for him. Even if he's the only one who knows, his actions shame him a bit. Only a little bit though, because here he is, supporting himself against a tree with a forearm and his pants lowered. The other hand is- well, if we are all adults here, we probably know what his other hand is doing, and why he's so annoyed with himself. The autumns where the three of them camp are chilly, and the sheen of sweat forming on his brow instantly cools in the night air.

A pulse-

There's something gripping his innards; every fiber of his being tenses and he pushes forward. The air hisses through his teeth, and when soft lights flower behind his fluttering eyelids, he knows that it was worth all the embarrassment he suffered himself. This moment in which his vision of her unfurls like smoke rising from a doused fire- still warm, and still lingering. His mind unfurls her like a spool of ribbon, curling in on its self even after it's been freed. His hand drops limply to his side, the air making him cold and uncomfortable.

So he wipes it on his red jacket and heaves a sigh. In the end, all this self-indulgence has brought him is disappointment. This hobby of his could usually be implemented with another warm body, but when it's just him, he feels like a loser... Thinking about her, like he's doing something very wrong- much more than the pervert he draws himself as. When he comforts himself with thoughts of her alone in the dark woods, he has nothing but his conscience to curl up against after all is said and done. It reminds him that he's a liar and a hypocrite. What is he doing, his mind making love to this less than woman! Without an answer to satisfy, he sighs again and pulls his pants up over his hips.

This is the other part that truly gets him. The guilty flutter in his heart and the melancholy sighs flare up in him like a disease, so the next day; he tortures her with insults and starts more fights than usual. Jin notices, being judged by that bastard is enough to make Mugen want to hit something.

Another sigh, and he maneuvers through the overgrowth back to the campsite. There's something eating away at him from the inside— emptying him of what he used to be… What was he becoming? What could he use to fill the unending hollow in his heart? He hadn't noticed anything amiss until it had been wrenched from deep within him. Rather than confronting it though, he considers the idea of pinching her soft face when he arrives back at camp.

Laughter floats through the air now, and he knows she's probably amusing herself with her little pet. He finally appears on the scene and smiles to himself for being right. To his relief, Jin is sitting across the fire from her. She's smiling to herself and holding out her finger, which Momo is trying to desperately hang onto with both claws. She gasps when it loses grip, and cheers when it bounces safely onto her lap. He squints and enjoys the way the warmth of the fire colors her cheeks, but it's not all that important.

"Oi." He puts on a front of annoyance (he _is _a little annoyed with himself, after all) as he goes out of his way to sit right down next to her. The confusion is evident in her eyes and he decides that he'd rather just pat her cheek. His fingers linger on her smooth skin, and he remembers to use the clean hand. Some of her confusion ebbs away into pleasure. It's almost tenderness… But his hand drops to his side before she has a reason to suspect anything. They turn away from each other.

"No firewood?" She asks, eyes straying to the fire. He grunts.

There's no apology in his voice, but she still acknowledges it as such and grunts back teasingly.

"I'll go out and look for some a little later." And he nods. His eyes stray to her again to watch her play with her pet. The only reason he's never killed it is because it keeps her happy, but it's not like he'll ever admit that either. He looks across the fire and sees that the other samurai is slumped against a tree, his sword leaning across his chest on his shoulder and his arms tucked into the sleeves of his haori. His eyes are closed. What a good night watchman, right? Then again, he'd gone out under the pretense of finding firewood and ended up doing something completely different. It's something he isn't too proud of, as a man.

Of course, most of the other things that come with the package of pride don't even matter to him. Killing, stealing, infidelity, so on. None of this stuff really means much. He always found strength in being able to control his surroundings. There's something about this current scenario that will bug him for days... This seems like something he has no control over.

But suddenly, he's pulled out of his reverie with a question that catches him off guard.

"So what were you really doing out in the woods?" She doesn't bat an eyelash- doesn't even look at him as she lets the squirrel scrabble up her arm and onto her shoulder. For once, somebody has caused a feeling other than anger or irritation to flood his being. For a couple seconds, he doesn't really know how to answer, and it's probably because of the way the lights flicker over her face in profile. He hates himself. He doesn't know what to do.

"I was getting myself off thinkin' about you." His own voice nauseates him with forced sleaziness. When she looks at him her cheeks are deep crimson, and her eyes are wavering from the suddenly flustering word spoken. He was almost surprised that she took him so seriously until her face transforms suddenly into a look of annoyance and disgust. She rolls her eyes and returns to her prior activities, a more sullen expression on her countenance.

"Whatever, Mugen. Don't joke around like that. It gives me the creeps." She mutters. Maybe he said it because she'd never believe it… Maybe he said it because he really wanted her to know, in some way, that he was a ruined man thanks to her. His face splits into a cynical grin, a little pleased that he can push her buttons like this. Some of his pride has returned, and he scootches a little closer to her. He can feel the heat from her face as he leans forward, his lips poised for speech beside her ear. His heart throbs in his chest. It would be the most amazing thing, to caress the shell of her ear with his tongue. There's something so exciting about the way she shivers in reaction to his gentle breath, something that keeps her completely still and silent...

He suddenly forces all of these thoughts as far out of his mind as he can—he can't be acting like this for real. There's just no way, especially with Jin sitting across the fire, probably listening in like a pervert.

"Good thing you don't try to flatter yourself..." It's an alluring purr that makes her eyelids flutter for a moment, but her innocence makes him pretty sure that probably just about any dashing young man could illicit this very wonderful reaction. He all but tears himself away from her side and gets to his feet, not bothering to brush the dust from his rear. He looks down at her and is pleased with his handiwork. She's annoyed and piercing him with a childish glare- no longer a lovely young woman, and just a kid. "I'm going to go out that way to look for more wood." He realizes the pun he's just made and feels a mixture of shame and amusement... Mostly amusement. She shifts, meaning to get up to join him, but he shakes his head. "Stay here, girlie. Make sure to protect that lazy ass over there, if you can." She frowns at his insult to their friend, but returns to her place at the fire.

"Just hurry back, please." She says. He wonders if it's because the fire is dying, or if she really wants him there to keep her company.

It doesn't matter. He walks past the edge of the forest, that desire that terrifies him coursing through every vein in his body. He needs to get away from her for a while. He needs to get away.

...And he calls himself a man...

All The Makings

By Naoko Asakura

Disclaimer: I don't own Samurai Champloo.

Author's Note: Thanks Razz, for the thoughtful reviews. This chapter is kind of inappropriate, but I bet all of you who have been following the story got a kick out of Mugan tossing off in the woods by himself.

Hope you guys enjoyed the revision… I'm about ready to press on to the next chapter. I promise it'll be a real doozie!

Chapter Three: The Makings of a Man


	5. Fool

All The Makings

By Naoko Asakura

Disclaimer: I don't own Samurai Champloo.

A/N: Sorry it took so long… I've just decided that I need to start writing again, and suddenly I came up with an idea for this chapter. Please enjoy.

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_Chapter Four: The Makings of a Fool_

Time passes.

Mugen spends most of his time fighting, drinking, stealing, and sleeping with women. All of these things happen in any given order all the time, every day.

How Fuu can keep pace with him with her scolding is almost inconceivable, but then one has to remember that she's almost as bull-headed as the Ryukyu Pirate. As their traveling companion, most of my time is spent listening to them or trying not to.

Lately, things have been different.

We've been hiking though a long stretch of forest, and with no signs of civilization in sight, we're all three stuck with each other. There are things I've witnessed in the past several days that were almost _too _telling of Mugen and Fuu. Both of them are painfully easy to read.

Mugen gets frustrated, storms off into the woods, and then comes back with an extremely peculiar way about him. Shame and remorse seem to ooze from every pore and for a brief moment, he's almost kind to Fuu. He wants her acceptance, or something. Then he slides back into his old self, pretending as if he weren't just acting like a guilty child.

I suppose luckily for him, Fuu never notices this change in his character.

Instead, she's taken to being a pushover in most of their fights—something I don't think I ever would have expected from such a willful girl, but then she's also getting really easy to fluster. Mention one thing about Mugen and she just loses her head. She almost burned herself the other night trying to push the firewood around with her bare hands.

I think that they're both incredibly stupid, and I'm swiftly getting bored with this entire situation.

Then again, if they ever come to terms, I'd probably be more bored and irritated by all this.

Tonight, Mugen has returned from his annual forest expedition looking even more sorry than ever—he can barely look Fuu in the eye, and he sits against a tree with his knees bent halfway to his chest. When he doesn't answer her when she talks to him twice, she moves over to his side and touches his shoulder. This surprises him out of his stupor and he looks at her with confused eyes.

It's like I'm watching a play.

"Are you okay?" She asks a third time. The fire only gets in the way of the scene a little bit. I can still see him turn away from her, his eyes muddy clouds of frustration and loathing. Her hand on his shoulder is shrugged off and he flops on his side, feigning exhaustion. He utters something so quietly that I can't really hear, but from the look on Fuu's face, it must have been something hurtful and bitter. She scoots back to her place by the fire, drawing her knees up to her chest and heaving a sigh. She looks like a disappointed child.

I don't know, call it a wild guess if you will, but it seems to me that they both want something— the same thing very badly. They just don't know how to go about talking.

Oh, Mugen, if only you were more eloquent.

Fuu, if only you were a bit more confident.

…If only both of you weren't such fools.


	6. Monster

_Chapter Five: The Makings of a Monster

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_

Something was about to happen. They all knew it.

The mood between Mugen and Fuu had been changing. Suddenly, it seemed that the routine was forced, and arguments gave way to silence or soft words. Anybody could see how much they wanted each other. It's not as if they were being romantic, but often times when they were together, no one else existed.

Jin knew something was about to happen. He leaving them alone more and more; often time making the excuse that he was going to go find some odd jobs or something of the sort. It had gotten to a point where he was doing that even when they were virtually nowhere near civilization. Sometimes, he wouldn't bother with the stories. There was no need, as they were more concerned with other things. Anyway, the real reason was clearer than he ever could be with words.

_I don't want to be caught in the crossfire of whatever happens—you two should be alone._

What a nice guy.

Sometimes, Mugen would catch himself sitting by her side in silence. How did things end up this way? Everything about her made his stomach turn nervously. He hated it, and to illustrate this he'd fake a retching noise just to get her angry with him. To try and break the ice… Or maybe he just did it because he didn't know what else to do.

Then she'd leave his side, and somehow that was more unbearable than the awkward feeling that left him paralyzed when he was near her. On this particular occasion, he moved over to where she was again.

"If you're going to be like that, don't even bother coming over here to begin with!" She bit out through clenched teeth. Mugen scoffed.

"When did I ever bother?" He forced too much distain into his voice, the words coming out like a joke to his ears. When had being cruel gotten so hard? When had lying ever made him feel so empty? Unsure of how genuine he sounded, he added, "This shit hole is too cramped and you stole my spot, anyway, bitch." It was overkill. He was compensating too much. What a childish thing to say.

For Fuu, this feeling of anticipation was insatiable. Sometimes she reeled with excitement and impatience from all the tension… It was like she was running a marathon or reeling in a line with some big catch at the end of the hook—she was going to get to the end of this if it was the last thing she would ever do.

She loved him. More than anybody else in the world, she loved Mugen. That scared her more than any assassin could. It was more than likely he'd cast her aside if he knew how she really felt. Maybe he'd even leave… Other problems became trivial and meaningless to her in the face of what may become of her relationship with him.

So, she also wore a mask of indifference. "Whatever, Mugen. Take your spot." Was all she said as she stood and moved to the complete opposite side of the fire pit. His face wobbled just above the flames, his glare bent out of shape by the heat.

It was unfair that his words no longer seemed to have any sway on her. It was unfair that her apathy hurt more than insults could. He would not yield. After a moment of trepidation, he went to her side again. Her heart ached. "Why are you doing this?" She asked him quietly.

"I don't know." It was a more honest answer than she thought. They shared a moment of silence. He nudged her with his elbow (as gently as he could without taking obvious care). She stayed where she was, folding her arms over the tops of her knees. She grunted at him.

And they went back to sitting in silence, in the run down shack at the edge of town.

Jin wasn't going to return that night.

Dusk had fallen hours later. All the fights in the world couldn't hide hide that there was no semblance of normalcy in the air. They had a bit of rice for dinner. They ate quietly- there wasn't much to talk about anyways. After that, Mugen passed his time napping while his companion hummed a low song under her breath and drew pictures in the dirt with a finger. Then she played a game with her pet squirrel outside, fed it a meal of its own, and then couldn't see much more to do with her time, so she re-entered the tiny hovel. The air inside was as warm as the firelight that bounced off the thatched walls, casting interesting shadows over Mugen's face as his body shifted. On the ground just a little ways from him, Fuu made a small bed and tucked her hands under her chin, watching the fire until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

When Mugen awoke, the fire had dimmed to red embers, making it hard to see in the small shed. The small window over his head didn't really help to light things up, but he could barely make out the curve in Fuu's hip.

Alone in the dark, he loved her.

The shame and the longing and a blackening feeling of lust simmered in the pit of his stomach as he watched her turn in her sleep. He hated this… He had to leave—

Just as his hand braced on the doorframe of the hovel, he felt a tug on his haori.

It felt more like something had just put a hook in him.

"Please don't go" Her voice may have been drowned out by the night noises, but in another moment he was on his knees, his hands clutching her face and tangling in her hair. It took everything he had not to just kiss her for all he was worth. Instead, to fight the gravity of her lips, he pressed his forehead to hers and screwed his eyes shut.

"Do you know" Oh god, her breath on his stubbled cheek. He swallowed thickly, "…Do you even know what you're asking of me, girlie?" His nickname for her. Girlie. His girlie. She didn't reply. Her hands reached through his arms for his face. Soft fingers made a rasping noise on his cheeks, and he nearly fell to pieces when she pulled him forward. His lips crushed to hers, and suddenly he couldn't think of a reason why he shouldn't stay.

Nothing could ever make him leave her ever again.

His body surged forward again, this time of his own will, his fingers sliding from her hair to her shoulders. She moved with him, her back to the floor of the small hut. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees around them, the last of the fire called out every so often, but everything else was forgotten. He trapped her underneath his body, almost instantly his hand moving for the bow at the front of her yukata. The other cradled the side of her head and she pulled his mouth down again… How could he have forgotten her mouth, when it had fit so perfectly with his own?

She broke away for a moment with a gasp, looking up at him with big eyes glossed over with all the pent up emotions she had harbored for this man for so long… This beautiful, hard man. He paused as she did, watching her beautiful face. In that moment, she looked wise beyond her years, beautiful and sure of herself. His heart banged in his ears, choked with anticipation. She was going to say something.

"I love you."

Fuu's eyes widened in the dark, her jaw dropped, and even her hands dropped from his face so they were raised over her head in the dirt.

He said it.

He actually said it before she could, no less.

The moment he said it, he regretted it. The way she looked at him, the way her touch left him said it all. Regret was replaced with simmering rage at himself, and at her, for creating such a fierce monster in his soul. Did he even have a soul anymore? If he did, it was at her mercy. She started to cry, and he felt like he was dieing.

"It's all your fucking fault, you know!" He seethed. He removed himself from her and went to stand on the opposite edge of the hut. He couldn't bring himself to leave. "You really messed me up… I don't even know who I am anymore… A total prick. That's what I am. A total fucking prick." He muttered bitterly. That's all he had to say on the matter.

"You aren't a prick," Fuu laughed through her tears, sitting up and drying her face as she continued to giggle and cry. Mugen raised his eyebrows. Had she gone crazy? "You're not a prick at all. You are a total dumb ass though. I won't argue with that one." He felt a stab of that old anger. This felt like one of their old fights, suddenly, except that she was insane, and he was just plain pathetic.

Suddenly, she was standing before him, her yukata hanging about her like a robe. The sash lay forgotten on the floor near the door. He tried to turn away from her, railing on about how he couldn't fucking deal with this etc. when she grabbed him with surprising vigor and spun him around to face her again.

"LISTEN TO ME." She demanded firmly, and he stopped. "Look in my eyes." He did that, too. "Do I look like I don't love you?"

His gaze searched hers, and with each moment that passed, his anger diffused. The pair stood, staring at each other for a long while, before Mugen let slip a chuckle, then a clear peel of laughter. Fuu joined in, her tears flowing again. She fell into his arms, laughing and crying and holding onto him like her life depended on it. Mugen held her by the small of her back, cradling her head against his collarbone with his other hand. Her insane laughter was contagious.

"I love you," She nuzzled his tanned skin, "I love you, I love you, Mugen, I love you. You have no idea how long I've wanted to say that. It feels so good to be able to, now. I love you!" She laughed. He buried his face in her hair, wondering how on earth things had worked out so well for him. He didn't deserve this kind of fortune. Maybe it was all hers.

Completely out of nowhere, her teeth nipped at his collarbone. His breath caught in his throat, and he pulled her tighter to him. His hand slipped under the folds of her yukata, catching the hip he had admired while she was sleeping earlier. He traced the soft, velvety curve with the pads of his callused fingers and tilted her head back to look in her eyes. Lashes wet from tears, he could make out his shadowed reflection in her soft brown eyes. It made everything all the more real.

He kissed her again.

And again.

If this was love he felt for this girl, then he would never know the touch of a woman again.

* * *

All The Makings

By Naoko Asakura

Disclaimer: I don't own Samurai Champloo.

A/N: Sorry it took me so long, and I'm sorry if you're disappointed that there was no actual "business" in this chapter. I thought long and hard about it. There's still two chapters left, though, so you never know what's in store, pretties.

I don't want to undermine anybody's intelligence, but I was afraid it would be a little confusing. So if you didn't understand the last line of the chapter, remember Mugen's rant in the second chapter about the difference between girls and women, and perhaps you will gain some insight. :D

Until next time!


	7. Tamed Animal

_Chapter Six: Tamed Animal_

* * *

So this was it.

The world was dead. Nothing more existed.

There was a harsh blow of air whipping through her head. Her hands were over her head, seeking purchase in the dirt beneath her. Grit stained her hands as they dug for the ground, and the sweat stood on her brow—dripping to her jaw.

Above her, relentlessness. She moaned without meaning to, and his hand cupped her dampened cheeks. His other forearm was just above her head, his fingers tugging at her hair with each thrust of his hips into hers… Desperately wild, but gentle and worshipping. His mouth descended on hers, she returned his fervent kiss in kind.

This was love.

For a moment she remembered she could open her eyes. In the gloom of the hut, his silhouette filled ever corner of her view. She could make out the dull light of his teeth flashing as he pulled his mouth free of hers. The sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Suddenly without any effort of strength at all, she was pulled from the floor into his lap. His grip on her was careful, always wanting more, but never too demanding.

The first time they'd made love that night, she barely noticed anything but the sensation and the emotion. He was just as lost, groaning her name as he buried himself in her… His love.

The second time, she slunk over to him, dragging her leg over his waist as she straddled him. Her hair pooled around his chest as she kissed him about the neck. She sunk her teeth into the thick muscle at his shoulder and grinned against his tanned skin at the breath she heard hitch. Her hands searched everywhere—touched everything. She slid lower and raked her fingers delicately down his torso. She didn't mean to torture him. In fact, she was trying her best. She'd almost taken him in her mouth when he suddenly caught her underneath the arms and pulled her back up.

She giggled. He took her hands. She ground down on him sensuously slow, at first. She watched him as his face took on an expression of pain—her heart beat furiously when he took her by the hips and began to respond with more urgency. She watched him throw his head back with a shuddering sigh, and felt his body coil like a spring. It was an amazing spectacle… The most beautiful thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

She tasted better than anything he'd hoped for.

He would not be satisfied with having her lay on the floor again. She leaned into him, her arms squeezing the skin on his back. He whispered her name in a chill when her breasts pressed to his chest—they were colder in the sweat and night air. He clutched her on his knees while she drove herself down on him over and over.

"Mugen…" She convulsed above him, her small body wracked with her very first orgasm, in spite of having sex twice before. His thumb gently massaged her down from that high place, and when he was sure she was satisfied, twitching and gasping from her release, he curled his arm about her tiny waist. She repeated his name over and over into his hair, "Mugen, I love you, Mugen… Oh god…" She was his god.

He lowered his head to lean into her chest, concentrating with all his body on their bodies—connected together… On the idea that right now, he really was finally fucking Fuu senseless.

Each thrust carried him home.

The days before meant nothing. There was nothing before this. This night, he was finally alive.

He held her down on him as he throbbed. What did it matter, if it was chilly and damp? What did it matter that the fire had died long ago? What did it matter if she ended up with his child inside her, when all he wanted to do was have them—share them with her?

What was nothingness, compared to this new life full of promise and unexpected desire? If you had asked him that question months ago, he would have scoffed. If you had asked presently, as he curled his naked body around his girl and pressed his lips to her temple, he would have laughed and answered quite plainly.

_Nothing, of course. Shut up, retard._

Love had changed everything.

It had turned him into a monster.

It had tamed him.

And he was more than willing to be so.

* * *

_All The Makings_

_By Naoko Asakura_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Samurai Champloo. Whoops._

_Author's Note: Just wanted to spit that one out. I was feeling lonely and inspired to write something like this._


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